


(Bury Me In) All My Favorite Colors

by mediocrityatbest



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Human AU, LAMP/CALM - Freeform, M/M, Other, There's no efficient tag for this ship, also, also write, have fun suffering, polyamsanders - Freeform, so i don't know, that alone should tell you exactly how this fic feels to read, title from Cancer by My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest
Summary: Logan’s favorite color used to be dark blue, but now it’s a little more complicated than that.





	(Bury Me In) All My Favorite Colors

**Author's Note:**

> I liked this one a lot when I wrote, so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.

His shirt was red - red, for the passion that coated Roman’s cheeks when he was angry or excited. Sometimes, this was the same thing. Red was the color of Roman’s favorite jacket, and red was the color of the sash from a play Roman loved. The first play he’d been in, actually, and the one that helped him realize his love for acting and singing. Red was the color of a hot and fiery love. Red was the passion and competitiveness that twirled through their relationship, and red was the blood that flowed through their veins, keeping them alive. Red was the slow nights, where neon lights glowed through their windows, and none of them cared because everything was good. Red was the heat of their bodies, pressed together, warm in the winter and too warm in the summer, but relishing the contact and shining skin. Red was the lips that smirked and puckered through every cringey pick-up line, somehow making them seem passable. Red was the color underneath the stage make-up, a thousand times more beautiful than anything else he’d ever seen. It was a million times more beautiful than any make-up he covered it up with.

Red was the color of love his love for Roman, bright and burning and undying.

His pants were purple - purple so dark it was nearly black. Purple for the faint indigo hue in Virgil’s eyes. Purple was the color of the hand-sewn patches of Virgil’s jacket, and purple was the bright shoelaces of his black steel-toe boots. Purple was the shock of hair hidden under the top layer, that could only be seen when it was pulled up. Purple was the sleepless nights, where the silence was enough. Purple was the warm cup of tea made at three in the morning, and soft words read from a well-worn book. Purple was the quiet, damp, early morning sky that he watched with Virgil from the roof after a long night. Purple was the melancholy that dissipated right before the sun turned the sky blue. Purple was Virgil’s hands, covered in paint that wouldn’t stay neatly on his brush. Purple was the bags under his eyes from not sleeping enough or sometimes sleeping too much. Purple was the beauty that was never loud or abrasive. Purple was looked over, and strong, and so many things it could never be enumerated.

Purple was the color of his love for Virgil, quiet and peaceful and lasting.

His tie was blue - light blue like the summer sky. Light blue for the nail polish Patton wore. Light blue for the eye shadow that made his dark eyes glow. Light blue was the for the laughter at any hour, and for the light-heartedness of Patton. Light blue was for the days spent at the park, laughing like kids again and feeling free of responsibility. Light blue was for the fondness for every living creature, and the compassion that compelled him to be so kind. Light blue was the feeling of butterflies in his stomach every time he saw Patton’s freckled face or heard his voice. Light blue was dancing to no music, two of them or three of them or, occasionally, all four of them. Light blue was the beauty in kindness and happiness and optimism. It was the beauty that wasn’t necessarily mainstream, and was often disregarded, but was more moving than anything else. Light blue was feeling emotions, all of them, and not rejecting a single one.

Light blue was the color of his love for Patton, kind and easy and constant.

Logan Sanders was a simple man, and his death was painless. It was too soon and unexpected, but they had to be grateful for the little things. Logan Sanders loved his three spouses, more than words could say. He loved them for the way they smiled and laughed and sang and danced and pulled him into silly things that made no sense at all, but his heart fluttered all the same. He loved them for the impromptu trips to the park or the store. He loved them for everything they did and everything they loved. He loved them for the way they colored his world in reds and purples and blues, and the way even the gray days were made brighter. He loved them wholly and without reservation. He loved them, and he loved them, and he loved them.

Roman Sanders wore dark blue for the glasses Logan wore. He wore dark blue for the sharp intellect in his eyes, and he wore dark blue for the loving light whenever he looked at any of them. Roman Sanders wore dark blue for the happy twinkle when something went right and he wore it for the cold anger in Logan’s eyes when one of them was wronged. He wore dark blue for the eyes that saw everything through the lenses of his glasses, and he wore dark blue for the brain that defended them all.

Virgil Sanders wore dark blue for the tie Logan always sported. He was serious, he would insist, frosting smeared on his face. He wore a necktie. Virgil Sanders wore dark blue for the serious way that Logan would approach any of their problems, no matter how small or ridiculous they were. He wore dark blue for the way his seriousness could be washed away by the right subject, and he would go on and on and on about something he loved. Virgil Sanders wore dark blue for the seriousness of the love he held, and he wore dark blue for the man who was serious enough to laugh at himself but never others.

Patton Sanders wore dark blue for the hands that held him. He wore dark blue for smeared ink from a long night working, or a night dedicated to quiet company. He wore dark blue for the gentle way Logan always touched them, like they would disappear, like he was afraid of hurting them. Patton Sanders wore dark blue for the man who felt so deeply he couldn’t fathom himself. He wore dark blue for the misused words and excited slurring when Logan got worked up. He wore dark blue for waving arms and bouncing legs that never quite stilled. He wore dark blue for the man who was everything but monochrome.

Mostly, however, they wore dark blue because it was what Logan deserved. They wore it for his excited rants, and his constant stimming, and his serious devotion, and his problem solving, and his intelligence, and his love. They wore dark blue for his love.

Logan Sanders was a simple man, and he loved his spouses beyond all reason. He loved them beyond comprehension, and he loved them because he could. He never  _ had _ to love them, but he did anyway. There was never really any other option. Loving them was as easy as breathing, more natural than thinking, and it was Logan’s favorite thing. He loved them, and he’d wear their favorite colors until he saw them again.

Logan Sanders was buried in all his favorite colors, and one day, they’d be buried in his, too.


End file.
